


What Doesn't Kill You Only Greiviously Injures You

by Beware_The_Ravenstag



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hannibalss2014, decotex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beware_The_Ravenstag/pseuds/Beware_The_Ravenstag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My attempt for the Hannibalss2014 fic exchange.  Set in some vague time during Season One, where Will is pretty good friends with Hannibal, but isn't losing his mind yet.  <br/>____<br/>The case was almost simple.  But an apologetic cannibal and a man who loves art too much prove to be too much for Will's wish for simplicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Doesn't Kill You Only Greiviously Injures You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [decotex.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=decotex.tumblr.com).



The case was almost simple—an art fanatic with a history of anti-social personality disorder had been killing people and re-creating famous paintings with their blood mixed with pigments. He had stolen the originals and left his gruesome copies in their place. Nobody had noticed anything until the forgeries had begun to smell.  
When the consultant they had hired pronounced the paintings forgeries, Will had been called in, seeing as this was pretty much his particular brand of crazy. Re-living the crime scene had shown him that the killer was acting under the influence of a little green monster; he was intensely envious of the attention all the painters in the Met were receiving, and had decided to show the world how much better he could make the classics.

From there, it was a matter of finding out who had the skill to create such a piece. Shockingly, the list was rather brief . Will figured that the culprit would be bursting at the seams to show off his artistic talent, so it didn’t take long to find a painter who specialized in selling knock-off versions of famous paintings whose rap sheet fit the troubled mind that had created the gory forgeries.

His name was Neil Gaffery , and it wasn’t long before he slipped up and admitted to the crimes.

Now all that was left was the court case. The prosecutor had decided that since Will had been so instrumental in catching the killer, he should stick around to testify. It was silently stated that his other job would be proving that Gaffery had been conscious and in control of his actions when the crimes had taken place.

* * *

Will woke to a knock on the hotel room door. He groaned and glanced blearily at the clock next to his bed.

It was 6:30 A.M. exactly.

Will yawned and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. The knocking came again, louder and more insistent. Will tried to ignore it, hoping that whoever it was would just leave him alone, but eventually dragged himself from the bed when the knocking didn’t go away.

Will lurched over to the door, ready to tear his disrupter apart, then stopped dead in his tracks when he opened the door.

It was Hannibal, standing in the hotel hallway, impeccably dressed and holding two cups of coffee.

“Good morning, Will,” he said. “I hope you slept well.” He proffered one of the coffee cups. “Coffee?”

Will stared blankly at Hannibal, then at the cup, then back at Hannibal. There was pregnant pause and the coffee was held in suspension between the two of them.

Finally, Will spoke. “Hannibal,” he said slowly, “what are you doing here?”

Hannibal hesitated. “May I come in, Will?” he asked somewhat awkwardly . Not knowing what else to do, Will let him in.

Hannibal entered the room and sat on one of the too-small hotel chairs. Will sat across from him, slowly and hesitantly.

“Will,” Hannibal began what seemed like a rehearsed statement. “I’m not only your psychiatrist. I’m your friend.”

Hannibal paused and looked at Will. He nodded and motioned for Hannibal to continue.

“But, as a psychiatrist, it is my duty to not let my personal life interfere with my professional life. I just didn’t want this to surprise you.”

Will gave a deep sigh. “Hannibal, just tell me why you’re here already.”

Hannibal, deadly serious, leaned in. “Will,” he said, “I’ve been hired by the defense to prove Mr. Gaffery’s insanity plea. I will be presenting opposing testimony in this court case.”

Will stared at Hannibal in disbelief. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“It’s far too early in the morning for this shit .”

* * *

A couple hours later, Will was waiting with Jack outside of the courtroom as the defendant was questioned.

Hannibal had stopped by a few minutes earlier to wish them luck in the case. He had brought them both steaming cups of coffee.

Jack chuckled as they watched Hannibal walk away. “Is your apology coffee as nice as mine?”

Will laughed quietly into his drink. After a moment, he turned his head to Jack. “When did you find out about this?” He asked.

Jack shrugged. “Earlier this week. I didn’t really know how to tell you. He was pretty worried about offending us, you so more than me.”

Will sighed. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t know now to feel about this. He knew that Hannibal would feel obligated to prevent a man not in control of his actions of being wrongly convicted.

On the other hand, Neal Gaffery had been in complete control of his actions—Will knew this. He had deliberately concealed his face from the museum security cameras and taken measures to wipe his prints from the canvas—all clear signs of premeditation.

How then, he wondered, could Hannibal possibly defend this man? Against the evidence they had amassed, fighting was practically useless, and Hannibal wasn’t a man to fight for an underdog with no hope.

* * *

“Do you have anything else to say in defense of yourself, Mr. Gaffery?” The prosecutor asked smugly, sure of an easy outcome.

The man mumbled indistinctly, his cloudy blue eyes focused on playing with the hem of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that Mr. Gaffery. Could you repeat?”

The man leaned forward to the microphone. “I dinnit do it” he slurred. “Some’un else got insida me n’ made me do it.” He collapsed back into his chair.

Will sighed quietly in his seat. This didn’t happen often, but when it did, it disgusted him. It was a mockery of epic proportions; killers barely on the brink of humanity claiming that they weren’t in control of their actions, that the voices made them do it.

Gaffery had been faking his symptoms ever since they caught him- fiddling anxiously with his clothing, slurring his speech, and constantly claiming that someone had made him commit the crimes.

Though, Will mused, he had been remarkably consistent in his falsehood. He always avoided direct eye contact, and he spoke with the same slur, avoiding hard constants and running his words together quickly.

Will returned to reality as Hannibal took the stand.

“Dr. Lecter, you are testifying on behalf of Mr. Gaffery, correct? To defend his insanity plea?” the lawyer questioned, beginning to slowly pace back and forth across the floor.

“That is correct.”

“Dr. Lecter, can you explain how Mr. Gaffery managed to shut off a good portion of the security cameras at the Met and wipe his bloody canvas of his prints, if, as he claims, he wasn’t in control of his actions.”

“Certainly,” came the reply, cold and sure. “I believe Mr. Gaffery was manipulated into performing this murder, with the true perpetrator taking advantage of Mr.Gaffery’s history with schizoaffective disorder.”

The lawyer paused. “Dr. Lecter,” he said, “I believe you may be mistaken. Neal Gaffery has been firmly diagnosed with anti-social personality disorder.”

Will caught a brief smirk flash across Hannibal’s face, though it disappeared so quickly that he couldn’t be sure.

“It’s an easy mistake to make, especially with the level of manipulation this man has been receiving.” Hannibal said, his voice forcibly light. “The man responsible for this would have had to control every aspect of the crimes, and would have accounted for every possible variable.”

The prosecutor was speechless for a moment, but returned to his interrogation with remarkable tenacity. “Do you have proof that Mr. Gaffery has the disorder you claim he does?”

“Of course.”

“Would you care to share it, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal, something akin to amusement seeping through his usual stoic mask, replied “Unfortunately, I cannot, as I’m afraid that would violate my confidentiality agreement with Mr. Gaffery.”

The prosecutor looked as if the world was slipping beneath his feet.

“Surely you don’t expect me to take your word for it, without an ounce of proof to justify yourself?”

“If you are so doubtful, examine him yourself. I’m sure any respectable psychiatrist would come to the same conclusion as I did.”

Will had to restrain himself from snickering bitterly. Hannibal was destroying their case like a wrecking ball, and in all likelihood, Gaffery would spend the rest of his life cozy in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, instead of being put to death. Hannibal’s reputation as a world-class psychiatrist preceded him; the judge was looking more convinced as the prosecutor floundered in front of Lecter.

Finally, the man gave up trying to get Hannibal to slip and said he was finished with him. Will had to resist the urge to throw a pencil at his friend as Hannibal walked back towards his seat.

* * *

 To no one’s surprise, the judge ruled that Gaffery had indeed been manipulated into committing the crimes. Hannibal’s initial testimony, as well as the follow up questions, had convinced him.

As soon as Will left the courthouse, he punched a wall.

They had been so close! And Hannibal just had to waltz in and ruin it, like he had something to prove.

Will collapsed into his hotel bed and ran his hand through his hair. Jack was finishing some follow-up procedures, so he was stuck in New York for another day, at least.

There was a knock.

Will had a pretty good idea of who it would be.Hannibal had called him three times, and had even reverted to texting him when Will hadn’t picked up the phone.

After Hannibal knocked a few more times, Will gave in. He didn’t want to permanently damage his relationship with the man; he just wanted time to himself.  
Will heaved himself up from the bed and went to go open the door. On the way, he quickly stepped into the bathroom to check that he didn’t look too ragged.

When he opened the door, he had to resist the urge to laugh out loud.

Hannibal stood in the hallway, as close to sheepish as he would probably ever look.

Will moved to the side and grudgingly let Hannibal in.

When they were both seated, Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off.

“Hannibal,” he said. “I’ve listened to you, now I want you to listen to me. I’ve thought about it, and I understand that you were doing what you felt you had to. What I don’t understand is… why you felt you had to.”

Hannibal seemed vaguely ruffled. “Because it’s the right thing to do. I couldn’t let a man die for actions he’s not responsible for.”

“Why does it even matter?” Will held his hands in his head, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hannibal leaned forward, concerned. “You know why it matters, Will.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I do. It’s just…We won’t ever catch whoever manipulated him. It seems lazy to leave at this point, but we can’t do anything else. The manipulator was clever. From what you said, I can tell he doesn’t live in New York, and probably only ever contacted Gaffery through text and email. If what you’re saying is true, then this manipulator had a definite vision for what he wanted the murders to look like, and how to bypass all the security. In all likelihood, this guy’s killed before."

Will drifted off into thought for a moment, then turned his attention back to Hannibal. “But we don’t have any evidence,” he said.

Hannibal opened his mouth to console his friend, when Will’s phone rang. He excused himself and took the call.

“Hello?”

“Will, you better get down to the Met. We’ve got a problem.” It was Jack, sounding even more stressed out and angry than usual.

Will was already standing up and looking for his coat. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

Hannibal looked on curiously.

“There’s been another murder.” With that, Jack hung up.

Will nearly cursed out loud. Jack had a love for dramatic exits that was really detrimental to getting actual information.

Will filled Hannibal in on what Jack had told him. Hannibal, being the interfering prick that he is, offered to come along. Will considered saying something along the lines of “as long as you don’t testify against me again,” but decided against it.

* * *

Will and Hannibal arrived at the crime scene minutes later, the route now familiar to Will after so many weeks of practically living there.

Jack was standing impatiently on the steps, and gestured irritably for Will to follow him.

Jack launched into a description of the murder without Will having to say anything.

“Forensics put the time of death at about a week ago, about a week after Gaffery was arrested. The victim was an attendant who worked at the museum."

Jack led Will up the steps to the crime scene, directly in front of the large entrance to the museum. They ducked under the yellow tape, and made their way through a sea of people to the make-shift base; several foldable tables arranged in a semi-circle.

Will looked at all of the pictures they had taken. The woman hung from the ceiling of the patio , hanging from wires in the top of her head, and most of her joints. She was contorted in such a way to look like she was reaching out to paint something, her fist frozen in that telling position. Even before Jack spoke, Will could tell who was responsible for this.

“When we examined her, we found several organs missing. We think this is a Ripper murder.”

“Is that it?”

Jack stared at him. “What do you mean, ‘is that it’?” he asked dangerously.

Will gestured to the crime scene photos. “Look at how she’s strung up. Strings not only at the joints, but at the mind, too. The Ripper is telling us that he’s the puppet-master.”  
Will walked over to where the wires were still strung up until he was directly under them.

“Think about it,” Will said, lost in the mind of the killer, “the location was very deliberately chosen. I think the Ripper is trying to tell us that Gaffery was his puppet.”

Jack threw up his hands. “Great.” He said venomously, frustrated beyond any relief “Fantastic. Now all we have to do is catch the Chesapeake Ripper, and we’ll have our guy.”

Will paused in his conjecture and turned to his friend. “…Jack?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Go home, Will.” He said, suddenly defeated. He leaned his bulk onto the table. “There’s not much more we can do here.”

As Will walked away, he got text from Hannibal (he was really coming around to this whole ‘technology thing’).

_Would you like to come over for Dinner when you return?- Hannibal._

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm almost two weeks late with this. That's all on me. I tried my hardest, I'm sorry if it wasn't exactly what you were looking for.


End file.
